歌词
作词 : 孖五好勁抽/笨蛋才天天emo
作曲 : 孖五好勁抽/笨蛋才天天emo
编曲 : 孖五好勁抽/笨蛋才天天emo
Idon't love you anymore.
Since when?
Now. Just now. I don‘ t want to lie.
Can't tell the truth,soit's over.
Itdoesn't matter. I love you. None of it matters.
Too late.Idon't love you anymore. Goodbye.
It is the month of September,
in theyear1866,
an English gentleman Edwin War,
who was traveling through the north of Ireland,
road home to his family,
I was at the Baleny station the other day,
when I saw a distressing scene,
a company of start young peasants were leaving by the train for Londonderry,
from where they were to take shipping for America,
The whole platform was crowded with their friends and relatives,
all simple rustic folk,
From hooray headed age leaning upon the staff,
to the unconscious infant crowing in his mather’ s arms，
The parting scene was painfully tarting.
People ask a question.
What's a RocknRolla?
And I tellthemit's not about drums, drugs and hospital drips.
Oh, no.
There's more there than that, my friend.
We all like a bit of the good life.
Some, the money.
Some, the drugs.
Others the shit game, the glamour or the fame.
But the RocknRolla, oh,he's different.
Why?
Because a real RocknRolla wants the ****ing lot.
Every eye was drowned in tears,
and wild unrestrained cries of affection,
as they embraced each other again and again,
moved even the porters,
to whom such scenes were familiar.
As the train began to move slowly away,
2or3 of those upon the platform clung,
screaming to the carriage stores,
until dragged away,
And amongst the wild out cry that rows who were left behind,
One poor woman fell back,
upon the seat against the wall,
wailing,
oh my darling my darling,
Whilst an old white headed man hard by,
dropped down on his knees,
with up lifted arms cried,
oh may the hand of bliss of god be about thee,
my own son.